The Last of Him
by Twisted-Taffy
Summary: There was friendship. There was insanity. And then there was darkness.


In The End 3

In the end, the final battle wasn't glorious at all. It was just long; long, and gruesome, and bloody. It was a battle, that past a certain point, neither side wanted to fight. But it was the final battle, the final stand, the end; and so they had to.

Israphel's bosses fought the inhabitants of Icaria: Knight Peculiar, Isabelle Peculiar and Tin Man, Swampy and Fumblemore, Jasper and Lysander, Spacker and Um Bongo. The two heroes of Icaria, the exiled dwarf of Khaz Modan, and the spaceman who fell from the sky, clashed with their mysterious enemy himself, Israphel. The three had drawn away from the others, caught in the storm of a fight that was theirs and theirs only. It was a fight that had been a long time in the making. And so they fought, until time blended into a mix of arrows and swords and pickaxes, of sand and stone, of long pale white faces and short round ones framed in ginger.

On they fought, until with a lucky blow Honeydew was sent arcing headfirst through the air, crumbing against a stone wall. In a fit of reacting rage, Xephos rushed Israphel.

Diamond met Iron in a furious clash of blows, both sides fighting furiously against the others onslaught. But as time wore on, more and more blows landed on the spaceman, more and more red lines appeared on his back and limbs. And then, there wasn't an iron sword for the cool diamond to meet, there was only air. For the iron was warmed with blood and body.

Honeydew woke to see his friend lying prone under their triumphant enemy. He rushed forward in fear, in anger, in guilt. But Xephos was rushing too, reaching out with reliable diamond to end the fight and save his friend from a battle he knew he could not win. And so the diamond grew warm even as the iron was cooling.

Xephos still wakes screaming in fear of the memory of that iron.

They were all the same, every night. Terrible visions haunting him, full of red eyes and pale skin, cold iron and hot flames. Crackling infernos, clanging blades, hissing and moaning, screaming and laughing all mixing with his own pain in a cacophony of terror.

He always woke screaming in pain, in terror. But when he ran out, flew to his chilly marble seat at the top of the factory, the screams morphed into ones of loss and anger. Loss of the fallen: friends, acquaintances, people; and anger that they had chosen to give up their lives.

Because it was freaking luck. It was luck that they were dragged in, and then they couldn't get out. It was luck they had done what they had done, and still it never had been enough.

Because they had died for him. Because no one should ever have died for him, a nobody stuck in someone else's world, someone else's time, someone else's life. Because 'Israphel's Bane' was really just an idiot who could barely remember his own name. Because the world had been burning into madness and what he did was never enough.

Honeydew had always been the supporter; he was damaged too, but satisfied the he had done what he could. So he was there to help and hide when the memories came back and all Xephos could do was lean with his head in his hands and shake.

Honeydew didn't have as much of a problem with the nightmares, but then he had less to remember. And as it turned out, Dwarven ale was an excellent night light.

Lalna, for his part, had mercifully elected to ignore their strange, unexplained flaws. But of course, as damaged as they were, he had just as strange and hidden a past.

It wasn't difficult to hide their pasts from the others. After all, it's easy enough to hide scars behind silk shirts and exchange old armour for newly developed tech. And while Xephos would never get rid of the diamond sword that had, almost literally, become a part of him, he was content with stashing it away and living with nano blades and lasers. All to keep the secret hidden away with the memories. With the terror.

There had been statues made of them, celebrations for the two saviors of Icaria. But the heroes hadn't stayed. They'd moved on, still limping, to a small forgotten corner of the world and taken up baking.

It was a long, boring, mundane task, but they needed it. For here they weren't heroes or saviors, they weren't skylords or shiplords or lords of anything else, and they weren't followed by a pale face and red eyes. Because no one ever died for biscuits.

Here they were just two bumbling oafs trying to accomplish a silly task they knew nothing about. They had found new friends and new adventures, and they were just a dwarf and a man with bad dreams. And they had done it, made a new life, full of cakes and light hearted laughter.

Xephos lifted off from his perch on the top of the factory, his flying ring humming comfortingly as he flew to find his friends. With the factory up and running successfully, it was time to figure out their next task.

Maybe bees


End file.
